Band-Aids
by probablynever
Summary: This story is an alternate take on my last fanfiction, "The Everyone-Hates-Me Blues". It still takes place in the fourth year. Instead of Fred and George finding Harry in the Forbidden Forest, Draco does. Contains pre-slash for Draco and Harry. You don't have to read the first story to get what's going on, but it might help.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Harry Potter. Also, any themes that are similar to those in other fanfictions is purely coincidental.

A/N: Save for the first bit, which is from my last story, this entire fanfiction is told from Draco's perspective. Each chapter begins where the other left off, so you may need to re-read the end of the previous chapter to remember what's going on. It's still set in the fourth year, naturally. I tried to balance the hurt/comfort element pretty evenly between Draco and Harry. I fully intend to continue writing chapters for this.

Thanks so much for reading!

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 **You can pass this section if you've already read it in my last fanfic. Basically, the gist of this is that Harry has overheard Ron saying really cold, hurtful things about him and their friendship. Ron only said these things out of anger, but Harry still takes it very seriously.**

Harry stumbled through the dense forest, scraping himself along the way, not caring what kind of mythical hellspawn he might happen across. Though he had originally intended to head to the library, on his way there, it occurred to him that the library would be filled with other students, especially since it was Saturday. Harry had no desire to be around other people at the moment. Even in other quiet spots in the castle, Harry was sure there would be passersby who would look at him like he was an idiot for studying in that location. Thus, Harry had ended up trekking through the Forbidden Forest, dodging hanging plants and fallen trees. Now he felt like an idiot for studying in the Forbidden Forest, but at least no one could see him.

Finally, he came upon a clearing. A beautiful, secluded pond brimmed out before him, stagnant and cold. A phoenix sang from a nearby tree. Harry placed his bag on the ground and sat next to it. His tears had long since evaporated, but he still felt miserable.

Harry was perfectly capable of dealing with arguing with Ron and he could cope fine with Ron being angry at him. By now, he was used to Ron bitterly declaring how conceited he was. _Whatever_ , Harry had thought. _He'll get over it_.

Now, Harry felt like he had no stability. He felt unsure of everything he had ever experienced with Ron. _I had fun with him_ , he thought solemnly. The concept that Ron had never enjoyed being with Harry, that he had only felt sorry for him, that Ron had wanted to end his friendship with him for years, weighed on Harry like nothing he had ever felt before. Ron was probably the most important person in Harry's life and the idea that he had never really wanted Harry around tore at his heart. Ron had meant _everthing_ to him.

Part of Harry knew Ron had been speaking out of anger, but at the moment, Harry couldn't think rationally. "You don't just say that shit out of the blue," he whispered bitterly to himself.

Harry had been so sure that Ron was missing him as much as he missed Ron. He had been sure that Ron would eventually forgive him and that they could resume being friends. Instead, Ron was _relieved_ to be rid of him.

Ron was the only person Harry had truly trusted. He loved Hermione, but she could be so clinical and serious. Though she was a terrific friend, she had a tendency to look at things purely from a logical standpoint, forgetting about the more emotional aspects of life. His Godfather, Sirius, was always sweet to him, as was Remus Lupin, but Harry knew he couldn't actually rely on them. They both had hectic lives and their own problems. They didn't need Harry cluttering things up with his problems too. Ron was the only one with which Harry had even remotely felt like he could be himself. Ron always cheered him up, made him laugh, and generally made him enjoy life. Harry didn't feel like there was anyone who could ever provide something even close to what Ron gave him.

Though he didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire, recently, Harry had begun to think that he should swallow his pride and apologize. It hadn't really occurred to him at first because he knew that he hadn't done what Ron was accusing him of. He didn't want to lie and confess to something that he didn't do, but he still thought about saying he was sorry for _something_. He had just been so taken aback and hurt at first by Ron's sudden resentment. Maybe there was something else Ron was angry with him about, he had thought. The concept that Ron was jealous of him wasn't lost on him. Perhaps, Harry had been too cocky. When Ron become angry with him, perhaps he was too immediately defensive. He should've listened to Ron and tried to explain his side of things. Instead, Harry had snapped back at him. Then he proceeded to put up his walls and pretend that he didn't care.

Now, none of that mattered. Harry didn't need to apologize. There was no way to make amends, and no reason to attempt to. Ron hated Harry and apparently, had always hated being around him. It made sense. Harry was quiet and boring and no fun to be with. Ron deserved to be with exciting, happy people, who weren't constantly dragging him down into a spiral of dispair, let alone forcing him to risk his life for them. Harry felt tears well up in his eyes. He wiped them away angrily.

 _Well, fuck him. Who needs him anyway?_ , Harry thought. _Guess I'd better try and get some homework done_. He reached into his bookbag. His hands grazed against what felt like a thick, wide stack of papers in the front compartment of his bag. Confused, he unzipped the compartment and pulled the papers out. There, in his hands, were photographs. He'd forgotten that he'd stuffed his pictures in his school bag for safe keeping. Some of them were of Hermione, Fred and George, and others, but most of them were of Ron. Harry cautiously examined the pictures. At first glance, Ron _looked_ happy. Still, Harry found himself examining his eyes, the corners of his mouth, and his body language. It was clear to Harry now that Ron hated being with him. All Harry could see in Ron's eyes were loathing and disgust.

Once, these pictures would have brought comfort to him. Looking at Ron's smile had been like looking at pure, undiluted sunshine (except that it didn't hurt your eyes). Now when he looked at these pictures, all he could do was scrutinize every one of Ron's smiles, wondering if Ron had ever wanted to be there with him at all.

Harry tried, but he couldn't prevent himself from bursting into tears. He buried his face in his arms and sobbed softly to himself, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life.

 **This is the end of the bit from my last story. You can continue reading the new story from here :)**

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Draco trampled through the forest aggressively. He was not in a particularly good mood, even for him.

"Stupid Pansy," Draco ranted to himself. "Who does that bitch think she is? I don't have to put up with that shit." Pansy had had the audacity to call Draco's father a "fair weather" Death Eater.

"How _dare_ you!" Draco had cried, aghast. "My father is one of the most loyal Death Eaters you'll ever meet and I'll have no one say otherwise!"

"Dude, keep your voice down," Blaise warned. They were in a somewhat occupied diner in Hogsmeade. Your father being a Death Eater was obviously something you needed to keep on the down-low.

"I'm sorry, Draco, darling," Pansy said in that smarmy, yet flirtatious manner of hers. She rested her hand on his thigh under the table, batting her eyelashes seductively. "I simply think your father would just as soon buy his way out of his position before he would sacrifice his own life for our..." Pansy lowered her voice and smiled secretively, "Dark Lord. I simply don't think your father has what it takes to truly serve him. I didn't intend it as an insult, but I've seen much more loyal members. _My_ father is practically his right-hand-man."

Draco could never understand why Pansy always seemed to take so much pleasure in making him mad. It practically seemed to turn her on or something. Maybe it was her way of flirting? Either way, it always succeeded in its goal. It always pissed Draco off.

Draco stood dramatically, Pansy's hand falling off of his thigh. "You shut your whore mouth! My father is brave and loyal! I won't sit here and listen to you besmirch my father's good name, you... you harlot of no virtue!"

Pansy smirked, looking smug and satisfied. "Oh, don't be such a drama queen, arsehole. I was only playing around."

Draco growled and stormed out of the diner. Now, he was violently stomping through the Forbidden Forest to return to Hogwarts.

Suddenly, Draco heard what sounded like someone softly crying. At first, it frightened him. "Who- who's there?" He demanded. The sound didn't cease. "Show yourself!" When the sound still didn't stop, Draco muttered to himself, "Why did I come this way? I hate this fucking forest." Courage wasn't his strong suit. He wasn't some stupid _Gryffindor_ after all.

He cautiously proceeded onward, ready to strike at the first sign of danger. However, instead, he simply came upon a clearing with a pond. Sitting by the pond was a black-haired boy, who appeared to be crying. _Oh,_ Draco thought, in realization. _Sometimes the most obvious answer is the last one you think of, I guess._ A devilish smirk crossed his face. _This looks like fun._

As Draco neared the teen, he could make out the initials printed at the top of the boy's bag. "H.P.". _Hmm,_ Draco thought. Then it hit him. His smirk turned into a devious smile. This was the best day ever.

"Well, well, well," he snidely remarked, feeling like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary. "Aw, is Hawwy Pottew cwying? What's wrong, did me and Crabbe and Goyle's buttons make you sad, Potter?" Draco laughed sinisterly. He was referring to the extremely clever "Potter stinks" buttons the Slytherin boys had magicked up together. "How pathetic. Just wait until I tell everyone that I found you crying! Everyone will hate you even more!"

Potter quickly wiped his eyes and stuffed some papers back into his bookbag. He then snorted derisively, turning to face Draco. "First of all, I _wasn't_ crying. Second, are you kidding? Those buttons are the least of my worries. If you want some constructive criticism from me, I'd say you need to work on your insults, but the magical effect is _great_ ," Potter said, rolling his eyes. He stood, grabbed his bag, and began walking away.

Draco frowned, disappointed. Shit. He hadn't gotten to him at all. If anything, he'd made him _stop_ crying. That wasn't what he'd wanted. He shrugged and jogged to catch up to Potter. "Oh, whatever, Potter. Admit it. Our buttons hurt you at least a _little_." Draco blushed slightly. That was _lame._

Potter burst out laughing. "Gee, I didn't realize it was so important to you, Malfoy. If it'll make you feel better, sure. Your buttons _really_ got to me. I mean, 'Potter stinks'? Oh, the pain."

Draco wasn't sure how to respond to that. He really wanted to threaten him, to tell him that he would do so much worse next time, but he couldn't keep himself from laughing along with him. "Hey, fuck you, Potter. Anyway, I doubt _you_ could come up with any better."

"Oh, I could," Potter answered, sounding confident, but not boastful. "I've heard it all, but I don't wanna give you any ideas. I like it when you're comically evil."

Draco paused. Had Potter really just said he _liked_ something about him? Potter stopped walking and turned to face him. He was now blushing, having realized his slip of the tongue.

"Well, that is, I mean, as opposed to when you're just _evil_ ," he clarified, straightening his glasses.

Draco smiled deviously again. "Whatever, Potter. As far as I'm concerned, _you_ just said you like something about me."

"Whatever," Potter said, rolling his eyes, seeming tired of the bantering. He hurried ahead of Draco.

Draco frowned. He worriedly realized that he had actually been enjoying his time with Potter. He hesitated, then jogged again to catch up with him. Draco tripped over a tree trunk that was laying on the ground, camouflaged by the foliage. His knee collided painfully with a sharp tree branch upon impact, scraping against the dirt afterwards. His forehead thudded against the ground. "Ow! Mother _fuck_!" Draco whined, holding his knee. Coping with physical pain wasn't Draco's strong suit either.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey, this chapter contains a slight bit where I kind of forgot how the wands work in canon. I mean, I can't remember if, like, it's possible to lose your wand or forget it somewhere or something. It's not a big plot point. Also, don't worry. In the chapter after this one, Harry does something about Draco's leg wound. I just thought I'd specify on those things. Thanks so much for reading :)

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Potter ran back to him. "You okay? You need some help?"

"Ow! Just sod off, Potter. I can deal with it," Draco snarled, embarrassed.

Potter rolled his eyes. "Just relax. Look, just let me take a look at it, all right? Do you think it's broken?"

Draco shook his head. His knee showed slightly from a new hole in his slacks. He rolled up his pant leg to his knee and stretched his leg out, examining the wound. A thick, ugly gash ran horizontally across his knee, dirt and grime coating the blood. It was already beginning to bruise. Potter kneeled down and looked at it. Though just his knee was exposed, Draco felt vulnerable.

"Damn, I think I forgot my wand in the dorm room," Potter said, biting his lip. He searched his schoolbag, but apparently found it only contained other, less useful items. "They tell you to carry it with you everywhere, but I left in such a rush. I'm always afraid I'll forget it somewhere anyway. I know that's dumb."

"Nah, I actually do that too. For you, it's dumb, since nobody would steal _yours_. My father had my name inscribed in marble and dragon blood on mine, though, so it's worth quite a bit. Not that my father couldn't simply buy me another one," Draco bragged. Potter stared at him blankly, seemingly unimpressed. Draco glared. Anyone in Slytherin would have been in awe. That was just one of the many reasons why Draco detested Potter. "Oh don't act like you're so above everything, Potter. You're so stuck up."

Potter laughed. "Okay, I'm used to hearing that from people, but I don't know if _you_ should be calling someone else stuck up, Malfoy. No offense."

"Hey, I am not stuck up!"

Potter snickered. "Sorry, but yes you are. It's okay. I don't mind it. I've got my own flaws. I'm a paranoid idiot, who thinks he's gonna lose his wand everywhere." He smiled.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're such a prick. Anyway, I didn't bring my wand either, but I'm okay. I can walk on it," Draco said.

"Well, I'm not your mother or anything, but you should definitely go to the hospital wing. You sure you're okay? It really _is_ a pretty rough-looking cut," Potter said.

"I'm fine. I'm not worried about it."

Potter cocked his head slightly, studying the wound. "Well, you're not losing that much blood. I doubt the knee really contains any major arteries or anything. Still, it's a bit dirty. You don't want that getting infected. I'm not really familiar with many of the plants in this area, but if I could just find some Dittany... I can't remember what it looks like, though-"

"I'm fine. Honestly. Just sod off," Draco quickly responded. He still felt somewhat embarrassed.

Potter examined him again and smiled wryly. "You're like a cat that did something ungraceful. You ever see a cat, like, fall or something? They act all embarrassed and pissy about it." He laughed.

Once again, Draco found himself unable to be offended by Potter's teasing. He _did_ pride himself on his cat-like qualities. He smirked. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he retorted weakly.

Draco stood, but wobbled a bit. "Take it easy," Potter said. He steadied him, then blushed, letting go.

Draco walked with a slight limp. He grimaced. "Fuck. I hate trees."

"Did you hit your head?"

"Screw you, Potter," Draco answered. _That_ he was offended by.

Potter looked confused and ponderous, as if wondering what Draco was referring to. A look of understanding crossed his face. "No, I'm not insulting you. I'm just asking because you seemed a little unsteady on your feet. Besides, you've got a scrape on your forehead."

"Oh," Draco replied. He felt his forehead. Sure enough, there was a scrape there. He stared at the blood on his fingers.

"Don't worry, that won't scar your pretty face," Potter laughed softly. He sounded mocking, but genuine at the same time. "Madam Pomfrey'll be able to patch that right up. You won't have to deal with any lightening bolts or anything."

Draco laughed, again unsure of how to respond. It almost felt like he and Potter were... flirting. He blushed, opting to change the subject. "Shit, only _I_ could go into the Forbidden Forest, and get my arse kicked by a fucking normal tree. I mean, the Whomping Willow, I get, but that was just ridiculous." Potter laughed and Draco realized that that was the first non-arrogant thing that he had said about himself.

Potter stopped laughing. "Aw, don't be so hard on yourself, Malfoy." Potter's voice sounded sincere and sympathetic . "You could barely even see that tree anyway. It's no big deal."

Draco blushed hotly. Potter left him feeling so damn confused. He had no idea how to react to anything he said anymore. "Well, I knew I shouldn't have left my wand back in the dorm room. Then again, this _was_ just supposed to be a casual day at Hogsmeade."

"Oh yeah? What happened?"

Draco hesitated, careful not to be too trusting of Potter. "I got pissed off at Pansy for sullying my father's name."

Potter laughed lightly again. "See what I mean? Comically evil."

Draco chuckled. "Well what were _you_ doing out here? If our buttons didn't get to you, why were you crying?"

"I _wasn't_ crying," Potter said. He appeared to still be suspicious of Draco as well. "I was just kind of, you know, depressed."

"Well, okay, what were you 'depressed' about?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Potter. What've you got to lose? The entire school hates you right now, and hell, even your best friend hates you."

Upon hearing Draco's last words, a pained look developed on Potter's face. Draco smirked. "Ah. I guess _that's_ why you were crying. Your boyfriend leave you for another girl?"

"Just leave me alone, Malfoy," he whispered, speeding up again for the third time.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm sorry if I wasn't clear enough in my first Author's Note. This is a sequel to my last story, which also takes place during GOF. In it, Ron vents to Neville about how much he hates Harry. Ron didn't mean what he said, but Harry's hears it and becomes depressed. This story is NOT intended as Ron-bashing. That story was pre-slash for Ron and Harry.

This is just an alternate take on my last story. In this version, since Draco is the one who finds Harry in the forest, it becomes pre-slash for Draco and Harry.

Thanks _so much_ for reading! :)

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"Oh come on, Potter!" Draco shouted in frustration. Potter stopped walking. "Don't make me run on this leg." Potter sighed, collected himself, and returned to him.

"Fine. I'll help you get to the hospital wing."

"Look, I'm sorry, Potter. I, you know, didn't mean to, I dunno, make you feel bad or anything." Draco blushed. This was the weirdest fucking day of his life.

Potter smiled wanely. "Hey, that's okay. I guess you're right anyway. It's out in the open. Ron hates me." His voice quivered slightly.

Draco felt oddly sympathetic. "Aw, that sucks. I'm sorry, Potter."

He sniffled."Thanks, Malfoy. It's weird, but I've kind of... I dunno, liked talking to you." Potter's cheeks reddened.

"Yeah, I know what you mean... Well," Draco said pompously, "I never wanted to be enemies with you anyway. I told you Weasley would just try to leach off of your fame, but did you listen? He's common filth."

"Oh, please," Potter rolled his eyes again. "You would've done the same thing. And Ron never-" he cut himself off. "I guess I can't say that Ron doesn't 'leach off my fame'. After what I heard him say, I'm not sure of anything about him anymore." His voice quivered again. Draco felt himself melt slightly. _Damnit,_ Draco thought, only half seriously, _the fuck are you doing to me, Potter?_

"Oh yeah? What'd you hear him say?" He tried to make his voice sound mocking, but his tone was much softer than he had intended.

At least Potter didn't run away again. "Just a lot of really cold shit." He looked at the ground.

"Well, what kind of shit? Ow." Draco cringed. "Look, could we sit down for a minute? This forest is fucking huge and my leg is killing me."

"Sure," Potter immediately helped him sit, then took a seat beside him. "I hope we're not just wandering around in circles. I'm not very familiar with the forest."

"Ah, don't worry about it. I've been through here a million times," Draco boastfully lied. "It's just really dense. At least it's not night. That's when all of the animals become really active. We'll get up in a minute. My leg just really hurts."

"You know what? I'm such an idiot. I should've thought of this earlier," Potter said. He had been wearing holey blue jeans. Potter tore the ripped section off, leaving his own leg exposed from the knee. "Can I see your cut?"

Draco paused, then relented, carefully pulling the cloth up, cringing as he did. Potter studied the wound again. "Nothing immediate. It's drying up, but it looks a bit dirty. Don't worry, we'll get you to the infirmary real soon. Is it okay if I try tying this around your cut? It's probably pointless since you're really not bleeding anymore, but it might make it feel better and prevent it from getting infected."

Draco was impressed. He didn't know Potter could be a decent healer, even if he _was_ employing stupid muggle techniques. "Well, okay. Just not too rough, okay?"

He nodded. "Of course. It might still hurt a _little_ bit, though." Draco braced himself.

Unfortunately, he couldn't prevent himself from whimpering slightly in fear when Potter was just about to tie the fabric around his leg. Draco's lack of courage and poor resistance to physical pain weren't doing him _any_ favors. He felt blood rushing to his cheeks, and, due to the bizarre combination of all of the emotions he was experiencing, tears welled up in his eyes. Potter looked up and studied him, appearing surprised, but genuinely concerned. Draco quickly looked away.

"Hey, hey, Malfoy. Take it easy. It'll be okay," Potter soothed. He reached out tentatively and put his hand on Draco's arm, looking up at him worriedly. He had half-expected Potter to mock him for being emotional. That's what Draco, or his father, or anyone in Slytherin would've done. That was what Draco had originally intended to do to Potter. "It's okay. We don't have to do this if you don't want to," Potter crooned. Draco shook his head, not trusting his voice. He gestured for Potter to continue, a tear slipping down his face. Potter let go of his arm, turning his attention back to Draco's leg. "All right. Don't worry, this won't hurt so bad, I promise. If you want me to stop at any point, just say so, okay?"

Draco nodded, staring at a tree. He wished that a blood-sucking bugbear would appear and kill him.

Draco felt completely mortified. Crying was not something that a proper Slytherin did. After many years of beatings from his father, Draco had become hardened to the point where crying usually wasn't an issue. Only the physical pain that he endured at his father's hands left him sobbing, probably because he loved his father so much, and only wanted to make him proud. He supposed that that was why he reacted so poorly to physical pain. It reminded him of his father.

He could also use crocodile tears to his advantage, like he had in third year after Buckbeak attacked him, but other than those specific occasions, Draco hadn't felt the urge to cry in years. Slytherins had many mottos, and one of them was "don't you dare fucking cry". For the most part, that suited Draco fine. Draco, and most other Slytherins, prided themselves on their lack of emotion. Draco believed Slytherin's sayings were the direct opposite of what Hufflepuff's mottos likely were, which probably included many references to sunshine and rainbows and sharing your feelings.

 _I should get up and kick his ass_ , Draco thought. What was he doing here? He was letting Potter touch him, and he was acting like a complete pussy. His father would die of shame if he saw him, and his friends would die of laughter. He should stand up and defend his Slytherin honor. Yet, Draco didn't really want to do that. Potter was so... nice. It felt good having Potter take care of him.

Draco blushed and remained silent, feeling beyond confused. He had never been spoken to so nicely by _anyone_. He certainly hadn't been expecting his mortal enemy to be comforting him. His parents would always mock him or ignore him if he was upset, even when he was a little kid. His father would just as soon hit Draco for crying before ever comforting him, or telling him that he loved him. His mother, ever the perfectionist, simply ignored him, passive aggressively telling him, "well, sweetie, I think you need to man up, to be quite honest. This is all for your own good, and you're acting like a baby". She'd been saying that to him since he was three years old. His mother was very devoted to portraying the image of having the perfect family at all costs, and Draco's father simply wanted to extinguish any weak emotion in him whatsoever.

For some reason, though he was much more physically abusive, Draco loved his father much more than he loved his mother. Though she never hit him, his mother was _always_ cold and standoffish. It was as if, to protect herself from the pain of it all, she had divorced herself entirely from Draco. She never seemed like she wanted to even acknowledge him. His father, meanwhile, _was_ capable of being fun to be around, and he had admitted to Draco once or twice that he loved him more than anything. Whenever his father beat him, Draco understood from the look in his father's eyes that he was honestly haunted by having to hit him. He told Draco that it was necessary for a future Death Eater to experience such pain, and Draco knew from his eyes and his voice that his father believed in what he was talking about. He never gave Draco any crap about it "hurting him more than it hurt Draco", but Draco could nonetheless tell that it _did_ hurt his father. It was miserable, but, in his father's words, necessary. All he ever really wanted from his father was love, and Draco was sure that his father wanted nothing more than to love him in return ( _platonically_ , naturally. His father wasn't a sick fuck). Love just didn't raise good little Slytherin Death Eaters.

He shivered slightly, goosebumps developing on his flesh. "Shh, it's okay, Malfoy. Just calm down. This won't hurt so bad. Actually, wait a second. I think I might have some tissues too," Potter said. He reached into his bookbag and pulled out a small package of tissues. He pressed several of the cotton sheets against Draco's pale leg, then he softly wrapped the scrap of denim around his cut on top of them, tying it tightly in the back so it wouldn't fall off. In spite of himself, Draco felt moved by both the gesture and the tenderness of Potter's touch. He thought back to a few hours ago when Pansy had had her hand on his thigh. _Shit,_ Draco thought. _Why does it feel so much better when Potter touches my leg? That's fucking weird._

The process had been a little painful, but Draco's leg did feel better. Still, it was so bizarre to have Potter be so intimate with him. "There. All better," Potter said softly, pulling Draco's pant-leg back down. "I'm sorry the fabric's so rough. Do you want me to see if I can find some water or something to apply to it?"

"No, I'm... I'm good," Draco choked, keeping his eyes averted. He felt like his face was on fire. "By the way, if you tell _anyone_ about _any_ of this, I _will_ kill you. Don't think you can manipulate me."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: The ending of the story is pretty tongue-in-cheek. Thanks for reading :)

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Potter's eyes widened and he flinched slightly, before seeming to catch himself. This made Draco happy and it emboldened him, although he was still surprised that Potter had reacted with _that_ much fear. Potter blushed."Hey, don't worry about it. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so hands-on. You probably could've done that yourself. I won't tell anybody about this, I swear. I'm sorry." He spoke very quickly.

"Damn, all right. I believe you," Draco laughed. "Besides, I've got dirt on you now too."

Potter smiled. "That's true. Mutually assured destruction. I'm down for that."

"Right," Draco said, not really knowing what Potter was talking about. "Anyway, thanks. We should start walking again."

"You're right." They stood and resumed walking. "If the cloth keeps falling, just take it off. It's no big deal."

"Nah, it's staying in place. So what did Weasley say anyway?"

"Oh," Potter said, looking momentarily dejected again. "Well, I'm still not sure I should tell you. You're like the snake in the Garden of Eden."

Draco smirked. "I don't even know what that means. You come up with a lot of weird metaphors, Potter."

Potter laughed. "Yeah, I guess I do. Well, okay. Ron didn't know I could hear him, but he said he... he said he never liked me. He said he didn't even care if I died in the tournament."

"Wow. What a dick."

Potter chuckled slightly at the bluntness of Draco's words. "Thanks."

"At least you care about your friends and can have conversations with them and stuff. My friends are a couple of brain-dead tubs of lard," Draco admitted. "The only thing Crabbe and Goyle understand is food."

Potter chuckled. "Well, I guess that's true. That's gotta be rough, but at least you've got Parkinson. You think you'll keep dating her after what happened in Hogsmeade?"

"Man, fuck that bitch. She besmirched my father's name!" Draco declared, knowing it would make Potter laugh. It did. "Seriously though, I'll probably keep seeing her. At least Pansy's smart, but... she's a bitch. I know I'm one to talk. But that's why I kind of like talking to you, Potter. You're on my level, but you're... you're different." Draco blushed. Why on Earth did he just say all of that?

Potter smiled. "Wow, thanks, Malfoy. I like you too, er, talking to you. I think I kind of judged you prematurely."

"Well to be fair, I was kind of a little arsehole the first time we met," Draco conceded.

Potter snickered. "Yeah, you were. But you're different too, Malfoy. You're so... I dunno..."

"Handsome, witty, brilliant?" Draco jokingly suggested.

Harry playfully shoved him. "Whatever. You're a git, but yeah, you are pretty handsome, witty, and brilliant. I guess."

Draco beamed. "Hey, I'll take that as a compliment."

They were approaching the edge of the forest. Through the trees, they could see the grounds. Though Draco was happy they had found a way out of the forest, he felt somewhat sad. He knew he could never be seen with Potter beyond this point.

Together, they exited the forest. Potter turned to him. "Hey, you, like, want some help getting to the hospital wing? You're still limping."

Draco considered it, then shrugged. _What the hell?_ "Actually... could you? My leg does hurt pretty bad." He was exaggerating somewhat now.

Potter smiled. He looked relieved. "Sure."

This had been the weirdest day of Draco's life, but one thing was for sure: things would never be totally the same between him and Harry ever again.

* * *

And a week later, in the Great Hall, Draco and Harry sat at their respective tables, smiling secretively to themselves. They passed notes to each other, giggling slightly. Ron folded his arms over his chest, pouting. He felt incredibly jealous. He turned to Hermione and said, "He's fraternizing with the enemy, is what he's doing."

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued reading her book.


End file.
